


The Art of the Dick Pic

by LazyBaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, M/M, Military Academy, Oblivious Steve Harrington, Pining Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: Steve gets shipped off to a military academy, yet his biggest problem is his lighting.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 72
Kudos: 526





	The Art of the Dick Pic

An _F_ in Econ class does what two near apocalypses hadn’t managed to do—destroy Steve’s life.

One too many bad grades, one too many school days skipped, one too many nights coming home drunk, one too many beers stolen out of the fridge, one too many cigarette butts found in the garden out back, and one too many _I’ll do it when I get home, dad. Jesus._

What’s the point, really, of almost dying and facing a very real _End of the World_ and then _going back to school?_ Between the NDA and looking like he’s hit rock bottom and gotten into the _hard drugs_ to his parents who already don’t have the highest opinion of him, this new outlook on his academics isn’t exactly something he can explain.

The Econ grade is the last straw that breaks his dad’s tolerance and his mom doesn’t exactly _care_ so within a week Steve gets shipped up north to the all-boys military academy for his senior year with only a duffle bag of his shit and a kiss on his cheek from mom.

It’s been three months of living on a learning curve.

There’s no privacy. There’s no talking back to any of the teachers. There’s no flashing his saddest and most _well meaning_ eyes at anyone. Get up. Go to class. Do your homework. Go to practice. Study. Rinse and repeat.

The school has what looks like air-tight structure where Hawkins High had bleachers you could skip out on class to smoke under.

The absolutely most difficult thing, though, is being apart from Nancy. It’s torture. He’s cried. He’s _yearned_. He feels like his heart’s been ripped out of his chest and is beating miles away in Hawkins. He understands every lovelorn song.

He has this photo of Nancy from the photo-booth at the fair from last summer. His roommate made fun of him for pinning it to the wall and being such a homo on the first day of term.

Shaving his head and having to use his fingers to figure out what time it is tie for second place.

Military time _sucks_.

Waking up at 0700 and having to be showered and dressed in a uniform that somehow _still_ itches and be downstairs in the mess hall before class starts at 0800 _also_ sucks.

Getting a buzzcut has completely erased his best trait and his head shape is _weird_ it turns out and his ears aren’t _even_ which is just _fucked up_ and the cadet hat he has to wear is _the literal worst_ and sucks _so amazingly much_.

Not being able to jerk off without another person _four feet away_ is the definition of _Suck_ and has pushed Steve to the edge. The very edge. He’d fight a thousand demodogs and demogorgons and whatever else the Upside Down wants to throw at him if he could just catch five minutes alone to jack it without his roommate critiquing his technique or throwing his lotion at Steve’s head because _it sounds like your stripping paint over there, cadet. Get that dick wet or I’ll do it for you_.

And Steve’s pretty sure he would. Billy Hargrove’s been here since he was 15. Story is he got caught with two guys by his dad back in California and was enrolled the next day, that he’d made every nun at his Catholic school cry, that he shanked a gangbanger and a judge gave him the option of juvie or military school—there’s a million origin stories going around school and Steve’s got no clue which one’s the truth, but they all have one thing in common and that’s being _believable_.

What sucks the most, though, is that Nancy’s stopped calling. She leaves him on read for days. Blows passed his wall of text to reply with a couple of words. A line.

The break up’s coming and Steve’s not entirely sure he’s going to be able to take it.

He skips out on dinner, skips out on basketball too, says _fuck it_ to study hall and all the homework that’s already late, and hides out in his room under the covers in the dark with his earbuds in listening to Barry Manilow and scrolling through Nancy’s instagram. Likes posts of the two of them from a year ago like the notification she’ll get will remind her she used to like him _a lot_ and he used to matter to her and they’re _still_ boyfriend and girlfriend and Steve’s a clingy piece of shit with no hair and weird ears who’s only seven hours away and hasn’t _completely_ disappeared and he’s not about to be _ghosted._

He might be crying.

It’s hard to tell with the covers over his head.

He’s got _Mandy_ on repeat. Has been listening to it for a good solid hour now. It isn’t the most thought out decision he’s made since being here, but sometimes wallowing is the only option a guy has.

 _I get it, Barry, you and me,_ Steve thinks, sniffling over a photo of him and Nancy at his parents’ cabin up by the lake. Smiling at each other. In love. Nancy’s wearing a pink bikini. Steve’s hair is so big and full and has _volume_.

Every inch of Steve aches.

The door to his room opens, slams shut. The lock’s flicked.

He turns up the volume on his phone and buries himself a little deeper into the bed and the covers and the self pity he’s enveloped himself in and isn’t surprised when all the blankets are yanked back and Billy flops down into his bed, parks behind him, makes himself comfortable by spooning Steve.

He’s sticky with sweat and stinks like BO and Axe and peppermint gum that’s doing a shit job of hiding the Reds on his breath. He’s so damn _hot_ , Steve’s starting to sweat after just a few seconds with Billy pinning himself to his backside.

The first day of term Billy had called him a _homo_ and tried it with Steve. Called him _pretty_. Licked his lips. Steve told him he had a girlfriend, told him to _fuck off_ , Steve’s been intimidated better by ten year olds, then Steve had flopped down on his bed face first and didn’t move for three hours until Billy kicked him in the kidney, told him to _get the fuck up_ and got Steve high behind the commissary while the rest of the new students got hazed.

Billy’s an asshole who has no problem jerking off with Steve four feet away from him and has Dumbo ears and somehow makes the buzzcut work for him and hits Peak Douchebag daily by bragging about his newest deadlift record.

He’s also kind of Steve’s best friend.

Billy plucks an earbud out of Steve’s ear and puts it in his, they’re cheek to cheek and his skin is _damp_ and prickly with stubble and Steve can already feel them sticking together under the sweltering heat Billy’s cooking them both in.

Billy heaves out a sigh when he hears Barry Manilow crooning _oh, Mandy_.

“You’re playing the _Wheeler was mean to me_ tunes—what happened, big guy? Do I gotta go beat a bitch up?”

Steve shoves his face into his pillow, tucks his phone to his chest. For as many times as he’s walked in on Billy with his dick out or his dick in one of their classmates, Billy’s walked in on Steve pining over a girl who’s gotten more distant by the day.

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re listening to _Manilow_ , Harrington. No way I’m leaving you alone. The last guy who jumped out the window broke both his legs. You do that and I’m gonna lose the only guy on the team who knows what dribbling is.”

Steve shakes his head, his earbud falls out, he loses Barry Manilow and that’s just another hurt to add onto the pile. He wants to die. “So glad you care.”

“Fuck yeah I do. I’d rather you listen to shit like Mungo Jerry over _Manilow_.”

“Let me rot in peace.”

Billy sighs and huffs and probably rolls his eyes too, Steve doesn’t care, but then he nuzzles the back of Steve’s neck, slips his hand up the front of Steve’s shirt to scratch at his chest, comb through his chest hair, draws circles over his sternum. If Steve was in Hawkins, if he had Nancy to even just hold hands with, he probably wouldn’t let this happen. Probably.

As it is—it’s calming and nice and makes him want to cry from how _nice_ it is and he’d be lying if he said he couldn’t remember anyone doing this for him, just holding him. _No one_ has ever done this for him. He’s always been the one to hold the girl and that was only after they fucked.

No one’s ever just _held him_ because he needed it. Not Nancy. Not even his mom.

Steve’s a mess. Billy’s got no reason to be doing this. He’s the asshole who uses Steve’s toothbrush half the time even though Steve’s written his name with Sharpie on it and he’s the guy who stays awake with Steve on his bad nights where there are only tunnels and growling that’s coming closer and closer and so many _teeth_ aimed right for his neck.

It’s just plain _nice_.

Billy rubs his nose along the back of Steve’s ear and it’s warm in the bed and dark in the room and Billy tugs at Steve’s chest hair a little, holds him so close, all of him is pressed against all of Steve and Steve soaks it up. Every bit of it. Needs it. Feels the despair and the impending doom for when Nancy finally ends it lessen enough for him to breath and for it to not hurt so much.

“Talk to me.” Billy says.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“It’s stupid.”

“So?” Billy’s hand slips out of Steve’s shirt to turn the lamp next to Steve’s bed on and those three seconds sort of suck a whole lot, like, more than anything ever, but then Billy wraps back around him, settles his hand right back in the thicket on Steve’s chest.

Steve hides his face in the pillow. “You’re just gonna call me a pussy. A whipped pussy. A big dumb stupid, _stupid_ whipped moron _pussy_.”

“Sounds gross, I’m so fuckin’ here for it.”

“I can’t—I’m literally gonna die, I can’t handle the criticism right now, okay?”

“I’m not gonna be a dick. I’m an angel, you bitch.” Billy nudges at Steve with his nose like a dog wanting his attention. Pinches Steve’s nipple and makes him squirm. “C’mon, tell your totally nice and sweetheart of a roomie what that no good Wheeler girl’s done this time. I’ll avenge your honor.”

When Steve just shakes his head again, Billy leans his weight onto Steve, presses Steve into the bed with his body and bites his ear. Makes Steve _grunt_ from the sharp pain. Billy’s big, all muscles and ego, weighs a goddamn ton and has chompers that could go through a 500 year old oak tree.

Steve pushes Billy off of him. Gasps for fresh air that doesn’t stink of _Billy_. Pulls up the _lack_ of texts and shoves his phone at him. Rubs the spit off his ear and thinks purposefully, _ugh_.

“She hasn’t texted me back in three days.” Steve explains. His voice cracks. “She’s gonna dump me. I know it. I can feel it.”

Billy’s quiet. Doesn’t reply or say anything at all and that’s weird and worrying, makes Steve panic and thinks maybe she really will dump him.

Billy’s obnoxious and never shuts up and keeps running his mouth even when he knows he shouldn’t. Gets off on riling a guy up. Steve or their classmates or one of the teachers—Billy’s out to drive every man up a wall.

And worse is he’s smart. Really smart. Like Nancy and Dustin. If Billy thinks it then—then it’s _true_ and Steve’s going to die alone.

Steve rolls onto his back to see Billy leaning on his elbow, cheek resting on his palm, scrolling through Steve’s phone with an eyebrow hiked up. He’s got his ratty Metallica shirt on, the one that’s stupid soft with the sleeves ripped off, not cut off— _ripped off_ —sweat stains on his chest and under his arms, probably his back too. Shorts riding up high. He’s got freckles everywhere. There’s no question why Billy gets off scot-free half the time.

Billy’s hairy armpit’s pressed into Steve’s pillow and there’s something inside of Steve that heats up at seeing the wet patch.

“Three days, huh?” Billy says and his face darkens, gets that disappointed look Steve’s been on the receiving end of with everyone he’s ever talked to for more than two minutes.

He flips Steve’s phone around and shoves a photo of Steve’s dick in Steve’s face.

“What the fuck, Harrington?”

“What the _fuck_ , Hargrove?” Steve’s gone high pitched, practically _squeals_ the words as he tries to grab the phone from Billy, but Billy’s got muscles on top of his already stupid big muscles since he was born into the academy _according to some people_ and Steve gets pinned down quick with Billy sitting on his stomach, his ankles keeping Steve from moving his hands.

He could probably get out of the hold if he tried. If he wasn’t drowning in embarrassment. If he hadn’t listened to _Mandy_ for an hour straight.

Steve sags into the bed, blushing down to his toes. Billy’s heavy, hot between the legs, radiates _heat_ that’s seeping into Steve’s skin and it’s mixing his head up, confusing things. He glares up at him because he should and Billy sucks too.

Billy shakes Steve’s dick in Steve’s face.

“This is the most depressing dick pic I’ve ever fucking _seen_ , Harrington. What the fuck? How do you have this—” Billy reaches behind him to cup Steve through his sweatpants, making him buck and go from a reserved _confused_ to _hasn’t been touched in three months and the dam’s about to break_ , “—to making it look like some three inch sad sack prick?”

“Why are you looking at my _private_ photos?” Steve grits out. “What the fuck? Like, _what the fuck, man?_ You don’t scroll through someone else’s phone, you psychopath.”

Billy ignores him. Steve’s anger usually lights him up, makes his bright smile grow dimples. Now Billy’s lip is curled up in disgust and that shouldn’t bother Steve, but it does. It really does. Billy’s annoying. He’s the worst. Steve hates his guts.

“Asshole.” Steve spits out, lets his head flop back onto his pillow. “Damn asshole. Stupid.” Stares up at the ceiling. There’s a water stain. It’s been there since the seventies, apparently. “You have a giant head. A dumb big melon head. How do you even walk through doors with that thing?”

“How do you not know how to light your own dick? Were you raised amish?”

“My hands are starting to go numb here.”

“This one is literally underwater. This is a waste of pixels and dong.”

“My parents have a jacuzzi and she wanted to see it and—and— _and_ I didn’t take those for you, okay? So. Screw you.”

“You didn’t take these pics for anyone. If I got this, I would’ve left you on read too.”

“Your ass is fat and I can’t breathe.”

“My ass is perfection and I’m being helpful.” Billy rolls off of him. Steve shakes his hands out, gives up any kind of hope of getting either his phone back or his old life back. “So you suck at taking a dick pic. That’s pretty clear.”

“I don’t live to impress you.”

“You definitely did not get her wet with this.”

“I’m not responding to that.”

“I bet you don’t even go down on her.”

“I do.” Steve says, hasty. “When she lets me.”’

Nancy’s going to break up with him and then murder him.

Billy clicks his tongue, shakes his head. “Girls should be eager to get you down there. _When she lets me_ is code for _you don’t know what the hell’s going on south of the border_.”

“What the—what do you know about girls?” Steve blusters. “You’re a fucking—gay.”

Billy’s mouth quirks up. “I am a gay. Thank you for noticing, you sweet thing.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you about my girlfriend’s _bits_.”

“It’s just ridiculous. You’ve got a Grade A dick, Harrington. Your shooter deserves better.”

This is the worst conversation he’s had with Billy and he hates that it’s _nice_ to hear that.

He’s got one thing going for him. No brains but, hell, he can make a girl nervous over whether or not he’s gonna fit inside her.

“I’m not saying thank you.”

“You’re still welcome.” Billy smiles _sweet_ as he goes back to scrolling through Steve’s phone. “The only reason a chick would dump _that_ is because she’s either some dumb cow so she ain’t even worth your time anyways, she’s got a side cock she’s riding, or you don’t know how to use the tools Jesus gave you.”

“Jesus would be _proud_ of my woodworking skills. I’m Bob freaking Vila.”

“I really wish I recorded that. That _needs_ to be the sound for my alarm. Shit.” Billy reaches back to grab his phone out of his pocket. “Can you say that again? But more like a whiny bitchy rich boy.”

“This is like the worst night of my life.” Steve rolls back into the cocoon of his blankets and pillow, hides his mortification in his hands, his knees go up towards his chest, he burrows into himself, into the starchy military academy sanctioned linen and tries not to overthink every orgasm he’s given Nancy.

Billy nudges and pulls Steve onto his back so Steve has to look at him. Billy props himself up on his elbow and brushes at Steve’s short, bristly hair, his nails scratching light at Steve’s scalp, the tender touch makes Steve’s lip wobble, makes him feel like an idiot.

“Pretty boy,” Billy says, soft, breath tickling Steve’s cheek, turns Steve’s insides warm, “why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Because. _You know._ ” Steve mumbles, “I love her.”

Billy hums, frowning, rubs his thumb across Steve’s eyebrow then the thin skin under his eye, rubbing at the sticky remnants of dried tear tracks. His hand stays there cupping Steve’s cheek. Steve focuses on Billy’s ear. On the weekends he wears earrings that catch sunlight and sparkle.

Steve turns his face into his palm and nuzzles, needy and wanting and lonely and full of missing.

“You dumbass hetero.” Billy sighs. He claps Steve on the cheek lightly, pinches him a little.

Steve sniffles. “You’re a dumbass hetero.”

“I’m a dumbass _queer_ , way better than being some dumbass hetero.”

“That’s, like, not fair.”

“I don’t make the rules, I’m just a law abiding citizen.” Billy’s hand is back on Steve’s chest, over his shirt, plucking at the fabric. Steve snorts and Billy manages to find and twist his nipple through his shirt, makes Steve hiss and then rubs it better after. “It’s real fuckin’ simple, Harrington. When you go home on break, fuck that uptight girl so good she can’t forget ya.”

“I’ll be dumped way before then.”

Spring break is still weeks away. Nancy will have moved on. Maybe she’ll be dating Byers. Or she already is. Steve’s not there and Byers is and it would just make sense. She deserves to be happy and Steve can’t do that for her here so.

So.

So Steve should just move on too. Cut the cord. Just. Get over himself. Move on. Whatever.

Billy slips his hand back under Steve’s shirt to pet at his stomach, dips his finger into Steve’s bellybutton, tugs soft at the trail of hair leading downwards under his sweats and Steve takes a few deep, deep, count to ten, breaths.

“I have an idea.” Billy says and that’s Steve’s cue to respond with an _oh no_ filled with dread at whatever horror show Billy’s planning. Steve’s been recruited for plenty of Billy’s _ideas_ from sneaking into the dean’s office to making toilet wine when security figured out the speakeasy Billy wasn’t officially charged with running.

Billy unplugs the lamp on his desk and brings it over, sets it on the end of Steve’s bed and plugs it in. Cracks open the shades. Bites his thumb as he turns around the room and studies whatever it is he’s doing.

“What’re you up to?” The familiar dread swells up in Steve’s gut.

Billy’s back is to him. He says, “I’m getting your dumbass girl wet for you.”

“What.”

“Whip Harrington Senior out and get him show ready.”

That’s a lot. That’s not what Steve expected. His dick still comes knocking at the door.

Steve stares at him, hands limp on the bed, dick starting to tent his sweats, shame lagging and bringing up the rear.

Does that make Steve Harrington Junior?

“Wait. No. What? _What?_ ” Steve waves his hands around. “Hold up.”

Billy whirls around in a huff. He’s pink cheeked, pink eared and glaring haughty. He folds his arms, his biceps twitching.

“You know how many dick pics I’ve taken?”

“Too many?”

“A lot. _A lot_ a lot.” Billy snatches Steve’s phone to wave it in his face. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t. So, you. Dick. Out. Hard. Now. I know you can do it, pretty boy, I’ve seen in plenty of times.”

Steve cringes, covering his face. “C’mon man, don’t watch me jerk off.”

“Harrington, man up and get your dick out so I can snap a pic and we can all move on with our lives.” Billy stops and then starts to grin, mean and mocking and every horrible thing anyone has said about Billy is true. “Unless you can’t. What? You too pussy to get hard in front of your best bro?”

He clearly _is_ hard. Grey sweatpants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination when it comes to having an erection and still Steve gets annoyed. That’s what Billy does, pummels his way inside and then squats there indefinitely.

Steve glares up at him.

“At most you’re, like, my second best bro. Friend. Don’t say bro. Ugh. God, I hate you.”

Billy clicks his tongue. Snaps his fingers in Steve’s face impatiently a few dozen times. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not about to compete with your right hand. Hurry up. I wanna eat some pizza before the cheese turns back into a solid.”

Irritated and a little breathless, pulse kicked up from his weepy, bruised moping state, Steve’s cock fills out more and he hooks his thumb into his waistband, ready to tug them down and he must have some kind of perverted complex when it comes to being bossed around to even think about doing this.

But it’s for Nancy.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Steve hesitates. Shy all the sudden.

Billy straddles his thighs and gets in Steve’s face just like he did on the first day Steve arrived at the academy and just like he does with anyone he wants to do his bidding.

“Seeing you all fucked up over some—I’m trying to help ya, man.” Billy says sincerely. “Or do you wanna listen to Manilow forever? What’re ya gonna do? Get into shuffleboard next? Fuckin’ Perry Mason?” Billy shakes his head and Steve feels himself doing the same. “Come on. Let’s win back your girl. Knock her socks off real romantic and shit.”

Steve’s fought monsters from hell. He can do this.

“Yeah.” Steve nods, licks his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

With Billy on top of him, his eyes on him, Steve pulls down the front of his sweats low enough to hook the waistband behind his balls. He goes red, burns his cheeks hollow at how hard he already is, the tip of his cock wet, spitting out pearly precome, twitching all on its own.

He glances up at Billy for some reason that’s not too far off from searching for the approval he thinks Billy might give him. Wants to be told how _nice_ his dick is while it’s out to hear it ‘cause that’s what three months in a military academy will do to you.

It’s all about the lighting and the angle, it turns out. _Gotta make her feel like she’ll die if she doesn’t get her mouth on ya,_ Billy tells him, waving around the lamp to get the angle right, turning off the flash on Steve’s phone, _make her feel slutty, get her juices flowing, the world’s gonna end if she doesn’t get your dick in her_ , and Steve nods like, yeah, that makes sense. Sure. Why not. Billy’s never fucked a girl before, but he knows how to get people hard for him, wet for him, and he _knows_ people, it’s why he hasn’t been expelled for all the shit he pulls here.

Billy’s not shy about looking, bites his bottom lip and considers Steve’s erection with a long, long once-over that climbs into the double digits and Steve’s twitching, half-squirming lying underneath him, growing more and more heated with all the _looking_ Billy’s doing.

It feels like he’s touching Steve. He’s not. His hands are full, but. But.

“Damn, pretty boy.” Billy breathes out, ragged and warms Steve up _more_. He holds up Steve’s phone, angles the lamp, takes a few shots while Steve holds the base of his cock, growing harder and harder under the attention and tries to rationalize it. It’s just because he hasn’t had sex since the night he left Hawkins, that’s all. He’s wound up. There’s no place to get off peacefully without at least someone catching an eyeful.

Billy pauses. Frowns.

“Push your shirt up, wanna see your tits.” Billy tells him and Steve doesn’t hesitate this time. Does as he’s told with a hitch in his breath.

Billy cocks his head, still frowning. Sits back on Steve’s thighs.

Steve hates it.

“What?”

“Hold on a sec, lemme just.” Billy says and leans over so his head is just above Steve’s dick. He spits and the glob of saliva lands right on the underside of his flushed hard dick, runs down Steve’s knuckles to his balls, mixes with his come.

Steve’s hips buck up on impact, all of him jerking in shock, his heart dropkicks out of his ribcage and he can barely breathe— _Billy spit on me. Billy spit on my dick_.

“Christ, Hargrove. What the hell.” Steve gasps out and he jerks his cock a couple times out of necessity before his brain catches up.

“Yeah, that’s way better. You look cunt-fresh like that.” Billy nods to himself, voice gone lower than Steve’s ever heard him and it does something to Steve, makes his stomach jump, his chest go all funny, his breathing. He can’t breathe. Billy’s heavy on top of him, hot and broad and genuine and not seven hours away and Steve struggles to apply reason to what’s happening here.

Steve spreads Billy’s spit all over his dick, gets it wet and shining in the lamplight, slick under his hand and then Billy spits again and Steve slicks himself up with that too, rubs Billy all over his dick, his balls, his hand, he’s wet with him, dripping. The loud squelch of his come and Billy's spit turns Steve's head inside out.

Billy takes a few more shots, some close ups. His breath rolls over Steve’s cock. Precome streams out of Steve and Billy mutters out a quiet, _jesus_.

It’s too much after weeks of nothing and Steve’s just on the edge of shooting off, right in front of Billy’s face and he doesn’t know what that means.

“And sent.” Billy says, tone as blank as his expression and tosses Steve his phone. It lands on his chest. Billy climbs off of him. Steve’s hand grips the base of his cock hard.

“She’s gonna soak through her panties when she opens that. You’re welcome.” Billy opens Steve’s desk drawer and grabs a smoke out of Steve’s pack and Steve’s lighter. Keeps his back to him. Steve wants him to turn around. Wants him to look.

“If you’re still listening to Manilow when I get back, I’m curb-stomping your phone, cadet.” Billy tells him without looking at him. He’s out the door. Slams it shut. The quiet’s stifling, a mood killer.

Someone yells _HARGROVE_ and Billy’s wild laughter rings throughout the entire dormitory as he’s chased down the hall.

Alone, Steve pries his hand off of his dick. Wipes the mess of come and spit on his sheet and looks at his phone, finding that Billy didn’t take a single photo—he recorded a video.

**Author's Note:**

> Sad Sack Steve + Aggressively Affectionate and Touchy Billy = pure joy for me. I'm sorry for being so predictable.  
>   
> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


End file.
